


Eighteen Hours

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need a helping hand to find those missing pieces of the puzzle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eighteen Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of Prompts in Panem, Round 6 - for the color Red.

 

A noise somewhere else in the apartment block wakes me. A door slamming, or something falling on the floor above me. Either way, I wake with a start – which is possibly the worst way to return to consciousness, given how much alcohol I poured down my throat last night.

 

The only thing that could make me feel worse? Confusion.

 

Which is what I feel when something moves next to me, rustling the bedsheets.

 

Or rather, _someone_.

 

They turn onto their side, facing the wall. One of the many things I forgot to do when I returned home last night was to draw the curtains – however, I’m now grateful for this as it allows in light from the streetlamp so that I can make out my companion’s silhouette.

 

The telltale lines of a broad back and bulging upper arm inform me that they belong to _him_ rather than _her_.

 

Sparks of memory begin to surface. Feelings of desire and hunger, of pleasure and relief. There is no doubt in my mind that I had wanted this person in my bed at the time.

 

I just don’t want him here now.

 

I slip out from under the covers and onto my feet – silently, but not entirely steadily. Stifling a groan, I grab an item of clothing from the back of the chair, slipping into it before making my way to the open door and stumbling into the hallway. When I reach the bathroom, I can’t bring myself to turn on the light and instead lean back against the closed door, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark.

 

When I feel confident that I can make out where everything is in the room, I slump to the floor. Maybe I could just stay here for the rest of the night.

 

My digestive system however, seems to have other ideas, and I crawl on my hands and knees to the toilet bowl barely in time to hurl the contents of my stomach into it.

 

When I’m finally done, I think about my options. I could get back into bed and sleep, and deal with _him_ in the morning. I could wake him right now and ask him to leave. I could sleep on the couch, where he’ll see me before he leaves and talk to him then.

 

Or, I could sleep in one of my roommates’ beds. Neither one is home this weekend. With any luck, he’ll wake alone and leave without bothering to check where I am.

 

I don’t have to think for long, and step out into the hallway after cleaning myself up. I pause at the door to my own room on my way to Madge’s, and see that the occupant of my bed has turned onto his back.

 

The street lighting that had outlined his side profile earlier now allows me to see the contours of his face. It takes only half a second to recognize him.

 

_Peeta Mellark_.

 

Snapshots of the previous night flash through my mind. Dancing at the club with Annie and Jo, looking across the room to see familiar eyes watching me. We had never even spoken to each other at high school, but I was aware of him; the star of the wrestling team _and_ debate team. While he wasn’t a card-carrying member of the popular clique, he was always on the fringes – which meant that we had moved in very different circles.

 

So, yes, his dramatic blue eyes – ones that not even dim nightclub lighting could dull – were familiar. But his shy, hopeful smile was new, and combined with the alcohol coursing through my body, I found myself pushing through the crowd towards him without thinking twice.

 

He had waited for me to step in front of him before gripping my forearm and leaning into my ear. “Katniss! It’s so good to see you again.”

 

I remember being surprised at him greeting me as if we were old friends. But I had played along, and let him buy me a drink as we swapped post-high school stories. I can barely remember anything he had told me now, except that he had moved to the city only a few weeks earlier to take a new job.

 

In front of me now, Peeta shudders in his sleep, and I slink back into the shadows for a moment before continuing to Madge’s room.

 

Collapsing onto her bed, I want to recall more details of the evening, but my head hurts too much. I must fall asleep pretty quickly and deeply, because the sun is streaming in through the bare window when I next return to awareness.

 

I can’t hear any sounds of movement from the rest of the apartment. Peeta is either still asleep, or has left. I _hope_ it’s the latter, but suspect it will be the former, and start to formulate a plan of how to cope with the uncomfortable conversation that is inevitable.

 

I don’t get very far with that plan though, as another wave of nausea hits me. I tumble out of the unfamiliar bed and race to the bathroom, dimly aware of how much noise I’m making and how it has probably woken Peeta.

 

I vomit until there is nothing left to bring up. I feel terrible, and the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke that seems to emanate from my very pores isn’t helping – so I turn on the shower.  

 

When I peel off the only piece of clothing that I had put on for my first trip to the bathroom hours earlier, I finally realize what it is. Peeta’s short-sleeved Henley shirt, a blue deeper than his eyes but one that I remember thinking complemented them.

 

Well, I guess that means he won’t be leaving while I’m in here. But I feel too ill to care. Right now, I need this shower more than I need to avoid talking to Peeta.

 

I climb in and let the spray envelop me.

 

I _do_ feel better by the time I finish – until I remember that I didn’t bring any fresh clothes with me. I think about donning Peeta’s shirt again, but as I gather it up from the counter, the blend of odors that it holds transport me back to the club. And as much as I want to remember exactly what happened last night, I really don’t need this assault on my senses right now. So I hang the shirt up on the hook instead of my towel, which I now wrap tightly around myself.

 

As I set out for my room, I steel myself for the awkwardness that is about to arise.

 

But Peeta isn’t there. The bed is empty, with the covers pulled neatly across plumped pillows. A noise from further down the hallway tells me that he is still in the apartment, so I quickly click the door shut and rummage through my chest of drawers for clothes. Donning sweat pants and a loose tee shirt, I step out once more and head to the lounge.

 

But I don’t find him sitting on the couch like I expect. Instead, he is in the kitchen in the far corner of the open-plan area, with his back to me.

 

His bare, shirtless back.

 

“Peeta?”

 

He whirls around in surprise, a spatula held tightly in his hand. “Hey. You’re as quiet as a mouse. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

 

I make my way around the breakfast bar and closer to him. It is only when I reach the center of the kitchen that I spot the fry pan on the stove next to him.

 

“Uh, you were in the bathroom, and I didn’t want to snoop around the rest of the apartment to see if there was another one, so I thought I would just wait until you were done.”

 

“We only have one…” I start to say, before my eyes – and my mind – begin to drift. He follows my gaze to the open egg carton that rests on the counter. And the half-used milk bottle. And the bowl that contains some sort of off-white, thick liquid.

 

I look back at him, raising my eyebrows in question.

 

“I, er…I know this isn’t normal for a one night stand, or drunken hookup, or whatever you want to call last night.” Peeta’s eyes flitter away from mine as he continues. “But I didn’t want to just leave while you were in the shower, and I felt weird just hanging around your apartment waiting for you to finish. And I was hungry, and figured you would be hungry too…so I made crepes. I’ve found that they’re great hangover food – light, non-greasy, easy on the delicate stomach.”

 

He laughs lightly. “Also, I, um, couldn’t find my shirt.”

 

“It’s in the bathroom,” I admit sheepishly. “I picked up the first thing I could find in the middle of the night, and I didn’t realize it was yours until I took it off to have a shower.”

 

My eyes drift to his torso as he rotates to tend to the crepe that sizzles in the pan, using the spatula to raise the edges before flipping it effortlessly. I remember running my fingertips across those ridges, smiling at the way they had rippled as he writhed beneath my touch.

 

_You have no idea, do you?_ he had asked. _You have no idea what you do to me_.

 

When he twists back to face me, I meet his eyes once more.

 

“Tuck in,” he says with an easy smile, gesturing at the pile of crepes he has already made. “I’ll join you in a minute, but I’ve been eating as I’ve gone along. And trust me, it helps.”

 

I hesitate for only a moment before reaching into a drawer for a fork and doing exactly what he asks. And he’s right – not only does it feel good to eat something, it feels good to eat something this delicious. I don’t even care that he watches me as I quickly devour the first crepe.

 

“It’s good, right?” he asks, grinning.

 

I can only nod enthusiastically.

 

He laughs before reaching for the pot of sugar and slices of lemon that he must have prepared before I arrived. “Try sprinkling some sugar and lemon.”

 

So I do, forgoing the fork and simply folding the next crepe twice to form a triangle and taking two quick bites before popping the rest into my mouth and licking my fingers.

 

Peeta’s grin widens. He finishes cooking the last two crepes, sliding them onto the top of the pile before setting the pan down by the sink. “I’ll clean up soon,” he assures me.

 

I shake my head. “Are you kidding? You made breakfast. I’m not going to make you deal with the dishes too.”

 

He shrugs. “Well, I’m not going to argue too hard on that one.” He pops an entire crepe into his mouth before gesturing at his chest. “I’ll get my shirt,” he says, the words sounding garbled through the food.

 

I tell him that there is a spare toothbrush above the bathroom sink, and watch him retreat into the hallway before turning my attention to breakfast once more. But when he returns, he is still topless, his shirt gripped in one hand by his side.

 

“Can’t bring myself to put it on,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “The smell is making me nauseous. I didn’t mind so much with the pants, but this is too close to my nose, I guess.”

 

I can certainly empathize, having thought the same thing when I exited the shower. I push away from the countertop. “I can go see if my roommate has anything your size.”

 

When I return, Peeta is hovering by the window in the lounge. “Looks like it just started snowing,” he says, as if cursing his luck. 

 

I hand him the shirt that I’ve retrieved and look away as he slips it on.

 

“Don’t suppose your roommate would have a jacket I could borrow too? I think I left mine at the club.”

 

I think about lending him my father’s jacket, but quickly dismiss the idea, not wanting to part with it for someone I barely know. I shake my head. “Gale only has one, and he was wearing it when he left on Friday.”

 

He looks at me in surprise. “You live with Gale?”

 

It isn’t a shock that Peeta would know his name – everyone at our school seemed to know Gale, even though he wasn’t in our year.

 

I nod, adding quickly, “And Madge Undersee too. We’ve had this place since we finished college. We all found work in the city, and it’s not too far from our hometown.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s why I moved here, too.”

 

“In fact, that’s where Gale and Madge are this weekend – visiting their families.”

 

“You didn’t want to go as well?”

 

I move to stand by his side, looking out at the slow but steady fall of snow. “No. Prim – my sister – is away at college. And besides, they’ll be visiting their families together. They’re seeing each other,” I explain with an eye-roll.

 

He chuckles. “Making you the third wheel in the apartment, I guess?”

 

“Yup. Though they’re not so bad these days, not like when they first started out,” I concede.

 

We both watch the scene out on the deserted street for a little while longer. Eventually, when the snow begins to thicken, Peeta turns to me. “I guess I should be on my way,” he says – reluctantly, I think.

 

I don’t say anything, feeling guilty for wanting to turn him out into the wintry conditions, but unable to think of an alternative that I would be comfortable with.

 

“If breakfast isn’t normal for this kind of…situation, I’m guessing that a request for your phone number probably isn’t either,” he says bashfully. “But I’d really like to see you again, Katniss. So maybe I could give you _my_ number and leave it up to you?”

 

I bite my lip as I nod. Following his pointed gaze to the coffee table, I make my way there to retrieve my cell phone, unlocking it before handing it to him. I watch as he taps in the number and then his name.

 

His voice is quiet as he hands it back to me. “I hope that last night was…adequately enjoyable – enough to encourage you to call me.”

 

“It was,” I admit with a small smile, my own voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t remember much of it.”

 

He laughs, I think, in relief. “Me neither. Maybe we could compare notes some time.”

 

I bite my lip again, this time in doubt. The only thing I want to do less than talk about last night _now_ is to talk about it some other time.

 

“Well, anyway…” He trails away, and I watch his face fall as he glances outside once more. I look to my left to see the snow falling so thickly that I can no longer make out the building on the other side of the road.

 

“You should probably stay here until it eases up,” I tell him eventually, though not with much enthusiasm.

 

Regardless, he smiles in gratitude. “Thanks, Katniss. I won’t get in your way. I’ll just sit and watch TV if that’s alright?”

 

He does precisely that as I shuffle around the apartment, replying to Annie’s text messages and clearing the dirty dishes before gathering the bag of laundry that I had intended to deal with today. It’s only when I begin to tell Peeta that I’m heading to the facilities in the basement that it occurs to me to ask if he wants  to wash his clothes too. He readily takes up my offer, and I return to Gale’s room to find some pants for him to wear in the meantime.

 

“They’ll be a little long,” I tell him with a smile as I hand them over.

 

His fingers brush mine as he takes them from me, and I ignore the jolt of electricity that runs through me. My head still doesn’t feel right, and the last thing I need is to add to the multitude of thoughts and emotions running through it.

 

“It’s fine,” he tells me with a smile. “I’ll just roll them up. No one’s going to see except you, right? And you’ve already seen me at my worst.”

 

“Worst?”

 

“This morning,” he reminds me with a wry grin. “Hungover, shirtless and stinking of liquor.”

 

I duck my head, willing the image that his words have conjured up to leave my mind, as he heads to the bathroom to change. He finds me a few minutes later, and I stifle a smile when I see that he has indeed rolled up the legs of Gale’s pants.

 

“This is our little secret, Everdeen,” he says in warning, though his own smile tells me that he finds it as amusing as I do.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” I tell him. Downstairs, the laundry facilities are deserted, and I revel in the solitude for the best part of an hour. I finally open my mind to some of the memories that have been vying for my attention for most of the morning.

 

I remember insisting on buying the second round of drinks as we commandeered two stools at the bar. I remember Jo’s inquiring gaze when she had found us, and the wordless exchange I had shared to let her know that I was enjoying Peeta’s company. I remember him confessing that he had found me attractive in high school, but could never muster up an excuse – or the nerve – to talk to me.

 

I remember leaning across to kiss him.

 

I remember him pulling me to my feet so that I could step between his knees as he perched at the edge of the seat. And I remember kissing him for an awfully long time right there beside the counter, held tightly against him.

 

I don’t recall whose idea it was to leave. Or whether I had even told Annie and Jo. I must have done, since their messages this morning didn’t seem overly concerned about my departure.

 

I don’t remember entering the apartment. Or my bedroom.

 

I _do_ remember his hands. I remember them framing my face tenderly, before squeezing my breast teasingly. I remember them on my legs, hitching me tighter around his waist as he sunk into me over and over again. And I remember them on my ass, spreading my cheeks as I rode him wildly, desperately seeking my release.

 

The beep of the dryer shakes me from my reverie, and I collect the clothes quickly so that I can return to the apartment.

 

Peeta gets up from the couch as I open the door. “Can I help you with those?” He takes the heavy bag from me before I can reply. “To your room?”

 

I nod, and follow him down the hallway. He sets the bag down in the center of the room, and waits patiently as I retrieve the items one by one, folding them into a pile on the edge of the bed. I hand Peeta his clothing as they come out, and he retreats to the bathroom when he has both his shirt and pants.

 

“Thanks so much, Katniss,” he says when he returns. “It really wasn’t helping my hangover, I felt like I was back in that club again every time I ducked my head down.”

 

“How do you feel now?” I ask.

 

He smiles. “So much better. Maybe not 100%, but at least 97%. How about you?”

 

I think for a moment. “82%.”

 

“Only 82, huh? Anything I can do to bring that percentage up?” he asks kindly. “More crepes, maybe?”

 

Shaking my head, I admit that I don’t feel like eating again just yet. “But you’re welcome to fix something for yourself before you leave.”

 

The smile drops from his lips, and I scramble for words to cover myself. “Not that you have to leave right away. I just meant that you could eat if you were hungry.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” he admits quietly. “Not for food, at least.”

 

It takes a moment for me to decipher his meaning – when I do, I look across in shock.

 

“I don’t know if you’re really planning on calling me, Katniss, so I’m just going to say this now. In case I don’t get another chance.” He takes a long breath before continuing. “I like you. I always have. I don’t know how we ended up at the same club last night, or why you decided to give me a shot, but it was more than I could ever have hoped for. I’d like to do it again. Though maybe with less alcohol next time,” he finishes with a sheepish grin.

 

When I don’t answer, he looks at the door. “I guess I should go –“

 

“I don’t remember everything from last night,” I blurt out. “But I do remember enjoying it.”

 

One half of his mouth curls upward. “Maybe we could help each other to fill in the gaps? Like putting the pieces of a puzzle back together.”

 

I hesitate for a moment before reaching down to pick up my clothing pile and taking it across to the desk chair. I return to the bed and perch at the edge. A moment later, Peeta comes across to join me, sitting close enough that we can reach for each other if we want to.

 

It seems that he does want to, because he takes my hand and laces our fingers together. “I remember telling you about my high school crush on you,” he begins. “We kissed at the club, and you asked me if I wanted to come back here with you. You left to go tell your friends, and I had this awful moment when I thought you weren’t coming back. But you did.”

 

“How did we get here?” I ask with my gaze fixed on the rug in front of me.

 

“Cab. We made out the entire way.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and bite back my own.

 

“Did we talk much when we arrived?”

 

“A little,” he tells me. “I told you about my job and moving here. I’m living with my brother on the south side of the city,” he reminds me.

 

“And after that?”

 

“Then, there was more kissing.” Even though I can’t see it, I know that his smile has returned. “Would you like me to continue?”

 

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

 

He edges closer, and a moment later, lifts our entwined hands to his mouth. I feel his lips on my knuckles. “I took off your dress. You laid down on the bed…and I used my fingers on you.”

 

I feel heat flood my cheeks as the memory surfaces in my mind’s eye. I had gripped his shoulders as he had thrust his fingers into me, his thumb rubbing insistent circles on my clit until my muscles clenched all around him.

 

“Should I keep going?”

 

I nod again. He kisses my wrist bone before making his way slowly up my forearm. When he gets to the elbow, he stops and speaks once more. “You undressed me, but I told you that I didn’t want this to be over too soon. You said that I should put my mouth to good use.”

 

I’m mortified, and try to retrieve my hand from his grip. But he doesn’t let me.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says lightly. “I enjoyed it as much as you did.”

 

I risk looking across at him – the sheer _want_ in his expression steals my breath.

 

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I had a crush on you. I just never expected that being with you would not only live up to that fantasy, but surpass it by miles.”

 

I reach for him before I’m even fully aware of what I’m doing. Peeta, however, is alert to my intentions and meets me halfway, crushing my lips to his.

 

_This_ I remember. I remember the way his lips had felt so soft even when they were so insistent. When his tongue dips out from between them, I remember how demanding _it_ had been, first in my mouth…and then around other areas of my body.

 

His voice is hoarse when he finally pulls away. “Katniss. Do you want me to stay?”

 

“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes still closed. I repeat myself more firmly when I raise my eyelids to find him watching intently. “ _Yes_.”

 

He grins as he scoots up to the head of the bed, pulling me along with him. We both laugh as I tumble to a stop on top of him. The amusement leaves soon enough though, replaced by desire as he reaches for my mouth once more.

 

I have no idea how long we kiss for, but when the hunger threatens to overwhelm me, I sit up to lift my top over my head before rolling to the side and taking him with me. He follows my lead, removing his freshly laundered shirt.

 

He doesn’t return to my lips, instead gazing at my chest for a moment before pushing the cup of my bra to the side to expose my left breast. His head dips so that he can take my nipple into his mouth, sucking first through his lips and then through his teeth. I moan loudly, both pleasure and pain shooting to my extremities.

 

“Can this be our little secret too?” I ask through the haze of desire, thinking back to his earlier words.

 

“If you want it to be,” he tells me as he flicks the same nipple between his fingertips.

 

“Just for now,” I add. “Just until we work out what this is.”

 

He takes my right breast out of the bra. “Anything you want,” he murmurs before mirroring his actions.

 

After he entices another moan from me, he moves back up the bed and captures my mouth. “What else do you remember from last night?” he asks when he finally lets go.

 

“I think that I was on top,” I tell him breathlessly. “For a while.”

 

“That was real,” he whispers against my collarbone before placing a kiss there. “I told you one of my deepest, darkest secrets, and you insisted that we play it out.”

 

This gets my attention, and I place my palms on his chest to push him up so that I can see him. “What?” I ask nervously.

 

He grins. “Don’t worry, it was nothing outrageous. Just that I used to fantasize about you coming to watch my wrestling matches. And visiting me in the locker room after.” His smile turns wicked as he continues. “And riding me on the bench.”

 

Oh. “But I think you were…also on top?”

 

He nods.

 

“After you came, I turned us over so that I could finish.”

 

“We used protection, right?” I ask suddenly, annoyed that I hadn’t thought of it earlier.

 

Peeta nods quickly. “We used a condom.”

 

Good.

 

“It was one of yours,” he continues in between running his lips across the line from my neck to my shoulder. “I have one in my wallet if you don’t have any more.”

 

“I have more. In the bedside drawer.”

 

I start to reach across to grab one, but he stops me. “Don’t need it yet. Tell me more about what you remember about last night.”

 

“I don’t recall much else,” I confess. “The next thing I remember was going to the bathroom while you were asleep.”

 

He looks up at me without raising his head, watching me watch him as he runs his tongue from the base of my neck to the curve of my shoulder.

 

“Not real,” he murmurs when he reaches his destination. “You woke in the middle of the night. You were thirsty, and fetched a glass of water for us both. We talked a little.”

 

“About what?” I ask, curious.

 

“You wanted to know what I had been doing in between high school and moving here.” I feel the heat in his huff of laughter, now against the side of neck as he returns to place another kiss there. “But I guess you weren’t all that interested, seeing how you fell asleep as I was talking.”

 

Embarrassed, I start to apologize, but he squeezes the fingers that rest on my hip to stop me.

 

“It’s fine. I can repeat it all some other time. I can think of more interesting things to talk about right now.”

 

“Such as?”

 

He raises his head to lock eyes with mine before he speaks. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want from me. Like you did last night.”

 

“I was drunk last night,” I point out.

 

“So was I,” he replies. “But we still managed to have a pretty amazing time. I _need_ to know what you want from me, Katniss.”

 

When I don’t answer, he reaches beneath me to unclasp my bra. I let him pull it from me and watch as he tosses it onto the ground before flicking one nipple, followed quickly by the other.

 

“I want your fingers inside me,” I tell him with a gasp.

 

He doesn’t hesitate, shifting his weight quickly so that he can slip his hand between my legs. Two fingers slide confidently beneath the only item of clothing that I’m still wearing and into me.

 

My hips buck involuntarily at the intrusion, welcome as it is. He responds by pushing his thumb against my clit, resuming a satisfying rhythm that I recall from the previous night.

 

“You told me you liked it like this,” he murmurs into my ear. “Real or not real?”

 

“Real,” I breathe. “It’s perfect.”

 

At that, he presses his thumb harder. When I urge him to move faster, he does. My hands grapple first at his shoulders and then at his back as he takes me closer and closer to the edge. When I finally reach my climax, I dig my fingernails into his flesh, and we cry out together.

 

“You like a little pain with your pleasure,” I say when I get my breath back, even though I’m not entirely sure of his answer. I don’t remember him voicing this preference, but I certainly remember having this impression last night. “Real or not real?”

 

“Real.”

 

He kisses me with a gentleness that surprises me in the midst of so much hunger. “What else do you want?” he whispers.

 

“You,” I tell him.

 

He smiles. “How do you want me?”

 

I think back to his confession – to his _deepest, darkest secret_. “Why don’t you tell me how _you_ want _me_?”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, aside from you riding me, I did have another favorite fantasy for the school locker room.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Taking you from behind.”

 

His chooses that moment to press his groin into mine, rubbing his erection against me in exactly the right way to make me gasp. “You had quite the imagination,” I tell him.

 

“I was a teenage boy with high speed internet,” is the retort. “Does it sound like something you’d like?”

 

I’m no stranger to the position, and admit that I do enjoy it. I watch as he climbs off of me and then from the bed, standing so that he can remove his pants and boxers. He returns to kneel in front of me, reaching forward to pull my panties towards him and over my feet. I let him cast his gaze over me, reveling in the thirsty expression that he doesn’t even attempt to hide. And then we move together until I am turned away from him, resting on my knees and forearms.

 

“Condom,” he reminds me with a trail of kisses along my spine. I reach into the drawer for one and pass it over my shoulder, listening as he rips open a packet.

 

A short while later, he slides his cock between my legs, catching my clit from behind. I groan, reaching down to grip him and hold him there, eliciting more pleasure for me and more lubricant for him.

 

“Ready?” he asks.

 

I tell him that I am as I push his cock inside me. We both moan as he drives deeper, burying himself to the hilt. He pulls almost all of the way out before pushing in again slowly, and I smile to myself as a string of curses leave his lips in a strained whisper. When he begins to speed up, I reach between my legs once more to trace tight circles against my clit.

 

Peeta pauses for a moment, keeping his cock deep inside me as he leans down to trail kisses along my back once more. “Tell me when you’re close,” he says before thrusting in a much shallower pattern than before.

 

I do exactly that, reveling in the spike of pleasure caused by him deepening his movements and quickening his rhythm at precisely the right time. He doesn’t even stop when I begin to come, and his thrusts prolong my orgasm. Eventually, the tension seems to leave my body all at once and I slump forward, held up only by Peeta’s arm around my waist. He pauses again to kiss my spine.

 

“Can I flip you over? I want to see you when I come.”

 

I tell him that he can, and feel him turn me gently until my back hits the mattress. We both groan when he pushes into my body once more.

 

“How do you feel so good?” he asks, his voice full of awe. “You feel even better than you did last night.”

 

I want to tell him the same thing, but I have never been good at vocalizing my desire. Instead, I sink my teeth into the base of his neck, marking him as mine. He _is_ mine for now, at any rate.

 

In response, he drives into me with a greater urgency. Soon after, he lifts his head and I feel his gaze on me. I return my eyes to his in time to watch him fall apart, his face contorting in the most pleasant way imaginable. I capture his relieved moan with my mouth, wanting to seize one final gift.

 

I feel his body slowly relax into mine, though he moves away before I start to feel the strain of his weight. He grabs a tissue from the box on the cabinet, wrapping the condom in it before tossing it into the trashcan.

 

We move onto our sides at the same time to mirror each other.

 

He smiles at me as he tucks stray strands of hair behind my ear. A moment later he laughs, almost to himself.

 

“I think that my memory has been adequately refreshed,” he explains at my inquiring look.

 

I laugh too, mostly at his choice of words. And then I nod, suddenly shy but wanting to say these words – wanting him to know that I don’t have any regrets about this. “I’m pretty sure I’ll remember every second of that.”

 

I watch his features crease in delight.

 

“We didn’t do so well at the one night stand thing, did we?” he asks, though he doesn’t seem to care any more than I do at our failed attempt at a drunken hookup. “I’m pretty sure that breakfast and laundry and getting back into bed aren’t normal procedure.”

 

“No.” I smile, waiting for him to return it before continuing. “But I think I prefer our way.”

 

 


End file.
